Three in the Dark
The next night I went back to the track.
I told myself it was just a run. Same as always. But my heart was beating harder than it should have been, and I kept glancing toward the top of the embankment even though I knew he probably wouldn’t show.
I was on my third lap when I heard footsteps behind me.
I didn’t turn around right away. I just kept running, listening to the sound of him catching up. When he pulled alongside me, neither of us said anything at first. We just ran. The only sounds were our breathing and the soft slap of our shoes on the clay.
After a while he glanced over at me. That same dreamy half-smile was there, but there was something quieter underneath it this time.
We didn’t talk much. Just a few comments about the cool night air. It felt like we were both waiting for something.
Eventually he slowed to a walk near the middle of the field. I slowed with him. For a second we just stood there, the grass damp under our shoes, the stars sharp overhead.
Then he looked at me, that grin flickering wider, and dropped into a loose wrestling stance.
This time I didn’t hesitate.
We came together harder than the night before. There was less surprise and more intention. We rolled across the grass, laughing when one of us slipped, but there was a different kind of focus underneath it. When he got me in a headscissors again, I stayed in it longer than I had the first night. I let myself feel it this time.
We were still tangled together, breathing hard, when headlights swept across the parking lot above us.
A flashlight beam started bouncing down the path. A young security guard — wiry and boyish, maybe twenty-one, uniform a little too big on his narrow frame — came into view, looking equal parts official and awkward. He slowed when he saw us.
For a second, none of us moved.
The kid was still half on top of me, one leg hooked over my shoulder. I could feel his chest rising and falling against my back.
The guard shifted his weight from foot to foot, flashlight drifting between us like he wasn’t sure where to point it. He cleared his throat.
“Uh… hey,” he said. His voice cracked slightly on the word. He tried again, standing up a little straighter. “What’s going on down here? This area’s closed after ten.”
The kid pushed himself up slowly, still breathing hard, and gave the guard that same dreamy half-smile.
“Just wrestling, man,” he said easily. “Burning off some energy.”
The guard nodded a little too quickly. He glanced between the two of us again, then looked back up toward the empty parking lot. For a second he seemed unsure what to do with his hands. He shifted his weight again and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.
“I used to wrestle a bit in high school,” he admitted. He caught himself and straightened up a little. “But I’m supposed to clear this area. You guys need to head out.”
The kid didn’t move. He just kept looking at the guard with that same lazy, curious smile.
“One round,” he said. “Quick one. Then we’ll go.”
The guard looked at him for a long moment.
The kid held his gaze without saying anything else.
The guard's eyes flicked back toward the parking lot one more time, then back to the grass where we’d been rolling. He let out a small, reluctant breath through his nose.
“…One round,” he said finally. “Then you’re gone. Deal?”
The kid’s grin turned bright and wicked.
“Deal.”
The guard hesitated for a second, then nodded once, almost to himself. He bent down and quickly untied his black dress shoes, pulling them off and setting them aside on the grass. He was left in just his dark socks.
He straightened up, rolled his shoulders once, and looked at the kid.
“Alright,” he said, a little quieter now. “One round.”
The kid’s grin sharpened. He stepped forward without another word.
They locked up hard — collar-and-elbow, both of them pushing and testing. The guard was stronger than he looked. He moved quickly, circling once before shooting in low and fast. He slipped behind the kid, snaked an arm under his chin, and locked in a tight rear-naked choke — the kind that puts you to sleep. At the same time, he wrapped his legs around the kid’s waist, pinning his torso completely.
The kid bridged hard and fought, twisting and straining, but the guard had good technique and solid control. He squeezed steadily, adjusting his grip when the kid tried to peel his arm away.
For a few long seconds the kid’s face went red. His movements started to slow. Then his eyes fluttered, his body went limp, and he slumped forward in the guard’s hold.
“Shit, he’s out!” I said, moving forward.
The guard instantly released the choke. “Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to — is he okay? I used to train that choke, I thought I had the pressure right—”
The kid blinked, coughed once, then lay still for a long moment, chest rising and falling as he slowly came back to himself. After about thirty seconds he let out a soft, dreamy laugh and slowly sat up, shaking his head like he was clearing fog. “I’m good, bro… damn. You got me.”
The guard looked genuinely relieved, then embarrassed. “Sorry, man. You good?”
“Yeah,” the kid said, still grinning as he sat up. “Pretty slick, bro. Let's try that again.”
They went at it again, no hard feelings, but with a renewed intensity. The guard was fit, wiry and quick, but the kid was on a mission. After a brief scramble he spun, dropped, and clamped those powerful thighs around the guard’s head and one arm in a tight triangle hold — the kind I’d seen in MMA on TV, something more than just a headscissors.
The guard’s eyes went wide, his neck veins bulging as he strained to lift his head and relieve the pressure. He tried desperately to pull his trapped arm free, but the kid held him firm, hands gripping the back of the guard’s head and pulling it down deeper into the hold. They flipped positions — the kid rolling to the top in mount while keeping the triangle locked, then flipping back to the bottom again, draining the guard’s energy with every roll. The kid’s thighs pulsed with steady pressure, surging harder whenever the guard fought back.
“Come on, man… tap,” the kid urged softly. “It’s okay.”
The guard held out longer than I expected, but eventually his hand slapped weakly against the kid’s thigh in total surrender. When the kid released, the guard rolled away gasping, face burning with embarrassment.
I couldn’t help it. I looked at him and said, “I’ve been there too, bro. It’s not very pleasant.”
The guard let out a breathless laugh, still red-faced. “Yeah… no shit.”
The kid grinned at me. “Your turn.”
For a split second I thought he meant it was my turn to go against him again — maybe another round of that long headscissors in the grass. Then the guard stepped forward with that goofy smile and I understood.
We locked up collar-and-elbow, shoving and straining. He was lean and quick, all wiry muscle and surprising technique. I managed to take him down once, feeling the heat of his body under mine, the way his narrow frame twisted and fought. It excited me more than I expected — the contrast of his lighter build against mine, the raw contact, the way he laughed breathlessly when I almost had him.
Then another set of headlights swept the lot above. A second patrol car.
The guard scrambled up fast, yanked his uniform jacket back on, shoved his feet into the dark dress shoes he’d kicked off earlier, and gave us two hurried fist bumps — one to the kid, one to me — before calling up the hill, “Just some guys having a late workout! All good here!”
He jogged back up the path, still adjusting his shirt.
The kid and I slipped off the track together. “That was fun. Hope he doesn't get in any trouble,” the kid said with a soft laugh.
I nodded, still buzzing. “Yeah… we should probably get off the field before another car shows up. I know a spot over there in the trees — there’s a clear patch where we can keep going.”
We moved into the small stand of trees that bordered the field. The kid glanced around the little clearing of soft ground hidden from view and gave a low whistle. “This is nice. Our own little wrestling ring. Really private.”
“Yeah,” I said, the word coming out quieter than I meant.
Then, very softly, he said, “By the way… my name’s Josh.”
The name landed like a small spark in the dark. Josh. The freaky kid on the track finally had a name, and somehow it fit perfectly — simple, easy, full of that same zany energy that kept pulling me back.
“Kyle,” I whispered back.
He repeated it once, quietly, like he was tasting it. “Kyle.” Then the grin came back, softer this time. “Nice to finally meet you, Kyle.”
The moment we were alone again the air changed.
Josh didn’t speak. He just lunged.
We crashed together harder than before, the earlier intensity with the guard still crackling between us. I was still buzzing from watching him completely own the security guard after being choked out himself — that mix of concern, adrenaline, and something darker. I didn’t want to look at it too closely, but it was there, sharp and undeniable.
This time when he reversed and locked me in his headscissors, it felt different. Deeper. He held me there a long time — firm, warm, controlling — surging the pressure in waves while I thrashed and fought. My face burned against his inner thigh, the intimacy overwhelming after everything that had just happened.
I didn’t tap quickly. I let the struggle stretch, revelling in the rush, the helplessness, the raw emotional intensity of it all. In that long, breathless hold I realized something clear and overwhelming:
I was in love with Josh — the freaky kid on the track.
When I finally tapped, he released gently and pulled me close, our foreheads almost touching on the cool forest floor. For a moment we just breathed together, the night air thick with pine and damp earth.
Then his hand slid down, resting lightly on my rear. The touch was casual, almost tender, but it sent a jolt through me — total control wrapped in something soft. His palm pressed just enough to remind me he had me.
“You like that?” he whispered, voice low and warm against my ear.
I didn’t answer right away. My mind was a mess — part of me appalled, part of me aching for more. The same frozen feeling I’d had on the track that first night, when his bike was hurtling toward me, came rushing back. Except now the danger felt inside my own skin.
“Yeah,” I finally breathed. “I like it.”
He let go slowly, but didn’t pull away. Instead he rolled us so we were side by side again, his leg still draped over mine.
“Come to my house, bro,” he said quietly. “It’s not far from here. My bedroom’s in the basement. My mom will be asleep, and she’s cool anyway. We can do this on a real bed… or the carpet. Not the forest floor.”
He paused, eyes searching mine in the dim moonlight.
“You okay with that? You want this, right? I know you want it.”
I swallowed hard. The words felt huge.
“I’ve never done it,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean… I’ve never done anything like that. You’d have to show me. Or be gentle. But… I want to. I need to be shown.”
He smiled, soft and dreamy again. “Or we can just stick with the wrestling for now. It’s all good. It’s nice here — really nice — but it feels a bit creepy too, doing more than that out in the open. The wrestling is safe. For the rest… my place would be better.”
Then his tone shifted, just a little darker, a little hungrier, the zany edge still there but laced with something raw.
“The guard was pretty cute, no? I’d like to fuck him too. Do the both of you. Pay him back for knocking me out, the bitch. Make it a double-header.” He grinned, but there was heat behind it. “Also, what you need is a gummy to loosen you up some. Get you in the flow. Hey, I think I got a pack, but it takes time to kick in.”
The words hit me like another near-miss on the track. Shocking. Wrong. Exciting. I should have been indignant, should have pulled away. Instead, a hot, conflicted rush went straight through me. I’d only met this kid a few nights ago — almost got run over by him, got submitted by him, deeply submitted by him — and now it felt like he was on the verge of doing that thing, the one unspeakable thing I’d both craved and been appalled by.
It all felt so wonderful and freaky and dark and mysterious, exactly like the kid himself. And also natural. Necessary. Like I was finally hitting my peak performance, whatever the hell that meant.
“Much ticklish, are we?” he suddenly whispered, and before I could answer his fingers danced lightly across my ribs.
I lost it — bucking, laughing helplessly, the tension dissolving into something wild and ridiculous. He laughed with me, the dreamy sound filling the little clearing, and for a moment everything felt simple again.
But the offer still hung in the air between us.
I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no.
I just lay there beside him on the soft forest floor, hearts still racing, knowing the night had already pushed us somewhere new — and that whatever came next, I wasn’t ready to run away from it.
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